


Let's make the most of the night

by eden22



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, doin their best, look they're just dumb jocks in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 21:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15081842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eden22/pseuds/eden22
Summary: This is really, really not how Kent wanted this to go.





	Let's make the most of the night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taggianto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taggianto/gifts).



> Happy birthday to my favourite disaster!! ily bb
> 
> Thank you so much to Helen for the beta, sorry that I can't stick to the same tense for more then a paragraph.

This is really, really not how Kent wanted this night to go. 

He’d had it all planned out, had been thinking about it for years really, ever since the first time Jeff had kissed him, both of them drunk off their faces at the Aces Christmas party, under the sprig of thyme that J.P. had taped to the top of the entrance to his kitchen (because, he’d explained to Kent earlier, he didn’t have a fuckin’ clue where you’d even get mistletoe, and there’d been a packet of fresh thyme at the grocery store next to the kale he’d been buying for his smoothie that morning, so, close enough). 

Kent had pulled back from that, frankly, terrible first kiss, looked into Jeff’s slightly out-of-focus eyes, and thought to himself, ‘I’m going to marry this guy’. Of course, then he’d been pulled away to, in short order: spend almost 20 minutes outside looking for one of the rookies that had wandered off, take somewhere in the range of 2-5 tequila shots to celebrate finding him passed out behind the Christmas tree, puke in the kitchen sink, and finally pass out on one of the loungers next to the pool. He’d woken up the next morning with a nasty sunburn, wearing a shirt that wasn’t his (he never did manage to figure out the original owner of that shirt). Kent had proceeded to not think about marrying Jeff again for another two years. 

He was thinking about it now though, had been actually, really thinking about it for a couple of months. He’d even called Jack for advice, which had been utterly useless – every single one of his suggestions in some way involved hockey, and Kent couldn’t quite tell if they were supposed to be jokes or not. After the third suggestion (pass him the puck in practice with the ring taped to it), he’d hung up and called Bob instead. Bob had put him on hold for a second, before coming back on the line, clearing his throat.

“Just do what feels right son,” Bob had said. “It doesn’t matter what other people will think. Do what’s right for the two of you, for your relationship.” 

“Alicia told you to say that, didn’t she?” Kent had asked, and Bob had hung up on him. 

Anyways. 

The point was, Kent had spent a while thinking about this, planning this. It was their anniversary (well, one of them, the anniversary of the first time they’d fucked at the T-Mobile Arena, which Jeff said wasn’t an actual anniversary, and why the fuck do you even keep track of all these weird benchmarks, babe). Kent had made the reservations five months ago at one of those unbearably busy and hyped up restaurants that only serve food that start with the letter ‘s’ or something. Whatever. Kent’s cat sitter had mentioned it, and it seemed like something they could, at the very least, make fun of together. It was fancy as fuck, was more the point, and Kent was determined to make this as fucking amazing as he could possibly manage. Jeff was literally the best man he’d ever met, and Kent was going to do everything in his power to ensure that he said yes to Kent. 

(Jeff had looked him dead in the eyes a month ago and, apropos of nothing, told Kent his ring size, so Kent figured his odds were looking pretty good, but still.)

Kent had managed to get Jeff out the door and to the restaurant without much of a fuss, through Jeff had raised an eyebrow at Kent when he’d seen the inside of the place. Kent had pointedly ignored said eyebrow, following the hostess without looking back at his boyfriend. Though he was pretty sure he could sense Jeff rolling his eyes behind him, the other man still followed behind them as they wound their way through the dining room. They were finally sat down at a small table tucked into the corner of the room, and as Kent sat down, he was feeling pretty smug with himself – their table was nice and private, and the atmosphere wasn’t as stuffy or pretentious as he’d feared it might be. 

That feeling lasted until he opened the menu. Kent couldn’t even look to see what Jeff’s reaction was, because he himself was far too busy staring at the menu with an increasing sense of horror and despair. _Probably should have looked at the menu online first_ , he thought to himself, even as he tried very hard not to panic. There had to be something that they served that sounded even vaguely filling and edible. Like, they had to have a burger. Everywhere had burgers. Please god, why didn’t they have burgers. 

Despairing of finding anything that complied with both his diet plan and how fucking hungry he always was, Kent braced himself to check on Jeff’s reaction. He carefully, casually angled his menu to cover most of his face before flicking his eyes up. Jeff’s dark brown eyes, however, were already looking back at him from over the top of his own menu. As Kent watched, the corners of Jeff’s eyes crinkled up in a smile that Kent couldn’t see. 

“So,” Jeff said, lowering his menu first. 

“Hm?” Kent asked, looking back down at the menu in his hands as casually as he could manage. There was a pause, and Kent glanced back up to see Jeff looking at him with an expression that was twitching on the edge between falsely serious and openly smiling. “What’s up babe?” Kent asked, when it became clear that Jeff wasn’t going to say anything. 

“Interesting place eh?” Jeff asked. Kent forced his eyes to widen in false ignorance of what Jeff was implying. 

“Right? So interesting. So well-recommended by every major food critic in Vegas. And Caity.” 

“You’re taking restaurant advice from Kit’s sitter?” Jeff asked. Kent shrugged. 

“She seemed very knowledgeable,” he said. 

“I’m sure,” Jeff said, dry as dust.

“Oh my god, fine,” Kent said, finally putting down his menu. “You win, this place is terrible.” He dropped his head down onto the table. “This is a disaster,” he whined into the tablecloth, though he couldn’t help but smile slightly at the sound of Jeff’s laughter. 

“Dude, calm down. We can just go somewhere else.” 

“I had to make these reservations five months ago.” Kent said, despondent. There was a silence from above him, and he finally sat up to see his boyfriend looking at him with a strange look on his face. 

“Five months?” he asked. “For this place?” He paused, looked around. “ _Why_?” he asked, sounding genuinely baffled. Kent leaned in, lowering his voice conspirately. 

“I do not understand rich people,” Kent said, and Jeff laughed.

“I don’t understand white people,” Jeff said, and Kent laughed because, fair. 

“Where do you want to go then?” he asked as he tried to think of anything else that would be fancy enough for his plans but also would have two seats open at 7pm on a Friday night in fucking Las Vegas. Jeff shrugged. 

“To be honest, I’m down for just like, street meat.” Kent paused, blinking at the man across from him. 

“Street meat?” he repeated. “Are you serious?” Kent thought about his plans for a champagne proposal. Then he thought about being able to shove half a hot dog into his mouth without worrying about being polite or respectable.

“Fuck,” Kent said, “god, I love you so fucking much babe.” 

“You think you love me now, wait until you see what I can do with an extra thick sausage.” Jeff said with a wink, and Kent snorted, throwing a couple of bills down on the table as he stood. They headed out back the way they came, waving goodbye to a confused-looking waitress as they do. 

Outside, the air was still hot despite the sun having set, and Kent shoved his hands in his pockets, unable to stop himself from tapping his finger against the box hidden in one. 

“Where to?” Jeff asked, and Kent shrugged. 

“There’s usually a guy at the corner of Queen and Broadview?” he suggested. “We could just walk over there?” Jeff nodded, already shrugging off his suit jacket to drape it over his arm. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he said, and they headed off, quickly falling into the comfortable silence of a couple that has been together for years. They passed crowds of tourists, dodging people weaving across the streets in increasing states of drunkenness as they made their way down the city street. When they turned the corner at Queen, Kent was relieved to see that his prediction was correct – there was a cart parked at the corner, its faded yellow sign declaring that it carried halal hot dogs and the best sausages in Vegas. 

“God, I’m getting like, six hot dogs,” Jeff breathed out beside him, and Kent laughed. “What?” Jeff asked, turning to him. “I’m not joking, bro.” 

“Yeah I know,” Kent said, unable to stop himself from sounding unbearably fond as they walked over to the stand. 

A few minutes after they ordered, the two found themselves each holding three hot dogs, both trying not to drop their other two as they ate their first one as fast as possible. With his first bite Jeff let out a moan that Kent was not too proud to admit kinda did something for him. 

“Good?” he asked, smiling despite himself. 

“So go-d,” Jeff mumbles around his own full mouth, and Kent is seriously so in love with this guy that it’s stupid. 

Once they’d finished eating, they resumed walking. A block after the hot dog place, they pass a incredibly dodgy-looking tattoo shop, and Kent is abruptly reminded of the time that him and Petri had gotten transcendently drunk following a team meet-and-greet. 

“Hey,” he said, “do you remember when me and Petri almost got face tattoos of the Aces logo?”

“Oh my god,” Jeff said, laughing, “how could I forget?”

“Okay look, it wasn’t my fault,” Kent said, launching into the familiar story of his first week in Vegas and the slightly terrifying drunken adventure him and Petri had gone on (which, seriously, was all Petri's fault).

It was then that things started to really go wrong. 

Kent was gesturing, throwing his arms out as he describes the experience of waking up with fucking Aki-Petteri Mäkinen buck naked next to him, with no idea where they were. Jeff was laughing along with the familiar story, something he’d heard quite a few times over the years from both Petri and Kent (both men, of course, blamed the entire incident on the other). His laughter was abruptly cut off, however, by a shout of pain when Kent’s forearm slammed into his face. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jeff shouted, bent over with his hand over his mouth. 

“Oh fuck,” Kent echoed him, his hands hovering over Jeff’s back, uncertain about what to do. “Fuck,” he repeated. “Shit, babe, are you okay?” Jeff spat on the sidewalk, and it was red with blood, and Kent was going to faint, he really was. He’d tried to plan the perfect proposal and instead he’d broken his fucking boyfriend’s nose or something. God, Jeff was never going to marry him now. 

After what felt like an eternity, Jeff finally straightened and moved his hand away from his face, and Kent was able to see that he hadn’t actually broken his nose – thank God – but his lower lip was about twice its usual size. Kent wasn’t sure what his face did, but whatever it was caused Jeff to swear. 

“That bad, eh?” he asked, and Kent tried to school his expression. 

“No, it’s… it’s fine,” he said (lied). 

“Shut up, it is,” Jeff said, reaching up to hesitantly prod at his lip, hissing in pain as he did so. 

“Okay well, I mean, it’s not _ideal_ ,” Kent said, “but it’s not _bad_.” Jeff snorted, then cursed again. 

“Shit that hurts,” he said, “c’mon, let’s just go home.” Kent fingered the ring in his pocket again, before finally resigning himself to having to wait for another time. 

“Sure,” he said, smiling back at Jeff. “Let’s go.” 

After a brief discussion, they decided to take the long way home so that they could walk down the strip and take in the sights and sounds. It was always loud and noisy and bright in Vegas, and Kent had honestly never thought he would love it, except for how he really, really did. The neon, the fountains, the strange combination of hideous and beautiful architecture, all of it combined into this massive mess he couldn’t help but love. He even loved the noise of the masses of tourists that descended upon the desert city. Of course, it was as he was thinking this that a young woman in a very tight silver dress and impossibly thin heels barreled straight into Jeff, and Jeff – Kent’s amazingly athletic, two-time-Stanley-Cup-winning boyfriend who could withstand a hit from Zdeno Chara and barely waver – fell straight back on his ass into the fountain.

At this point, Kent was honestly not sure whether to laugh or cry. 

Jeff kind of looked like he was thinking the same thing, sopping wet with his jacket floating sadly in the fountain water next to him. 

“Oh,” the woman said, blinking blearily at them. “Whoops.” She turned and walked away, leaving Kent and Jeff staring after her. 

“Whoops,” Kent repeated, turning back to Jeff. There was a pause, and then both men started to laugh. Jeff struggled to his feet, looking helplessly down at his ruined suit. The fall had split his lip back open, and there was watery blood smeared across his chin. He looked like a complete disaster. 

_Fuck it_ , Kent thought, and stepped over the lip into the fountain. 

“Woah, what the fuck,” Jeff said, half laughing as he watched Kent wade over to him, “dude you didn’t have to…” Jeff trailed off as Kent stopped in front of him, getting down on one knee. 

“Jeffrey Noah Troy,” Kent started, pulling the box out of his pocket. 

“What the fuck,” Jeff whispered. Kent opened the box, and Jeff’s eyes fixed on the ring inside. Kent was vaguely aware they were beginning to attract a crowd, but he ignored all of that in favour of keeping eye contact with Jeff, whose expression was somewhere between thrilled and horrified. 

“I love you so much. I love the way you-”

“Babe-”

“-skate, the way you smile at me in the mornings when you’re barely awake-”

“Kent-”

“-how fucking picky you are about your locs and making sure-”

“Babe _stop_ ,” Jeff finally got out, and Kent felt his heart stop. He swallowed, feeling his throat click. 

“I-” he started.

“No, fuck, I just, I feel really sick, I don’t kn-” Jeff started to raise a hand to his mouth, only getting halfway there before hunching over and vomiting directly onto Kent’s outstretched arm. 

“Oh my god,” Kent said. 

Jeff puked again. 

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Kent yelled, scrambling to his feet. 

“Jesus,” Jeff said, heaving, “oh my god, yes, I’ll marry you.” 

“Maybe I don’t want to anymore!” Kent yelled. He thought he might sound slightly hysterical, but he felt like it was pretty justified. He had spent six grand on a ring that his boyfriend had just vomited on. Jeff laughed, a slightly strangled thing that ended as quickly as it had started, with Jeff swaying slightly and looking like he was thinking about vomiting again. 

Kent took a large step backwards. 

“I love you,” Jeff said, “I want to marry you.” Kent stared at him for a long moment. Behind them, a camera flash went off.

“Yeah, alright” Kent said.

**Author's Note:**

> Some random tidbits:  
> \- Zdeno Chara is a real player in the NHL. [He's 6′ 9″.](https://www.google.ca/search?q=zdeno+chara&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjxnbWEm_bbAhWr34MKHen7CtQQ_AUICigB&biw=1361&bih=780)  
> \- When writing Jeff, I was picturing [J.T. Brown](https://www.google.ca/search?biw=1361&bih=780&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=p8A0W6WMCs3TjgT0x7uQCw&q=j.t.+brown&oq=j.t.+brown&gs_l=img.3..0j0i30k1j0i8i30k1j0i24k1l5.23398.25520.0.25849.10.9.0.1.1.0.116.688.7j1.8.0....0...1c.1.64.img..1.9.685...35i39k1j0i67k1.0.AQsVmEwKd3I) because I love him.  
> \- I have never been to Vegas and know nothing about Vegas. I wrote it as if it's downtown Toronto because I'm lazy.  
> \- Except for the fountains, we don't have as many of those here.  
> \- I love street meat, happily it has yet to betray me the way it betrayed Jeff.  
> \- A billion bonus points to anyone who realized that the "wearing a shirt that wasn't his" thing was a nod to [Andreas Borgman waking up the morning after winning the Calder Cup in a banana-print shirt with no idea how he got it](https://anzekopistar.tumblr.com/post/174936363103/andreas-borgman-the-banana-shirt-that-he-woke-up) (he wore it to the celebratory rally that weekend when everyone else was wearing their championship shirts, it was hilarious).  
> \- Yes, the ring size thing was a Queer Eye reference.


End file.
